


The Jotun's Saddness

by bluetoast



Series: The Jotun and the Widower [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Ice Cream, Loki Needs a Hug, Mentions of Loki/Thor, Sif needs a hug, Slavery, Thor is a creep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 21:24:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2888432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor has come to apologize for his behavior the last time he visited - Mirjam, however, is angry at him for a different reason. Sif wants her husband back, but it isn't Loki she's angry with. Ísleikur doesn't know what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jotun's Saddness

Thor had not meant to miss his son's name day. It was difficult to gauge the difference in time between Midgard and Asgard, and it wasn't the first time he'd made such a grievous error. He had felt terrible when he had not been present for the births of his daughters, and that it had taken him nearly a month to get to see Röskva. There was also his inexcusable treatment of Loki the last time he'd gone to see him. He had tried to come up with something that could cause him to behave so irrationally, and all he could come up with were the Midgardian pain killers he'd been given shortly before he returned to Asgard. Eir, after learning the chemical compounds of the medication, had concurred with him and then promptly chewed him out for using such barbaric methods of healing, rather than returning straight home for treatment. 

Which was why he was here now, outside Loki's shop prepared to issue an apology. He had not see the jotun since the incident, which was six weeks ago. What was pathetic was the fact that he'd been standing here for the past five minutes, working up the nerve to go inside. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open, hoping to find the place empty or nearly that. Within, he found only three tables occupied, and no one looked up when he came in. He crossed over to the counter and came face to face with Ursa. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, your grace.” The dark elf blinked at him, her expression unreadable. “What may I get you today?”

“Is Loki here? I... I would like to speak with him.” He decided that he would pull out the best manners possible for this whole visit; he didn't need to make things worse.

The elf eyed him warily and then glanced at the curtain to the backroom. “He's in the back, Röskva's sleeping, so please keep your voice down.” 

“Yes, ma'am.” He replied and went behind the curtain, the rich smell of soup and baking bread almost overwhelmed him. Thor took a few steps into the kitchen, looking around slowly. “Loki?”

“Hello, Thor.” Loki's face appeared from behind a shelf, the jotun's nose and cheekbones were spattered with flour. “I did not know you were coming.” 

“Yes, uh...” He stood up a little straighter. “I came to apologize for the last time I was here. My behavior was inexcusable and I am hoping that you will forgive me for my disgusting and heartless actions.” 

The green eyes blinked at him for a moment, before narrowing and then Loki let out a sigh. “Don't let it happen again.” He took a breath. “I wasn't expecting you today.” He took his apron and wiped his face and hands. “Both of the girls are sleeping.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “Or rather, Mirjam is supposed to be sleeping, she might just be reading in bed.” He went over to the stove. 

“I have missed seeing her as well.” Thor rather wished the floor would swallow him up at this point. He hadn't planned on anything after saying he was sorry, but it didn't seem right to just walk out. “I am certain she told you I was not at Vakur's name-day celebrations.”

Loki lifted the lid off of a pot and stirred the contents. “She did. Although she stated Vakur was more upset than she was.” 

“I should not spend so much time on Midgard, the time does not move consistently. When important events are coming up, I should remain here until they have passed, or attend to matters on Midgard more quickly.” The lid clattered down onto the pot and he looked up, noting that Loki was clutching the counter, his arms shaking. He strode over to the jotun and set his hands on his upper arms. “What is it?”

“I... am just tired, Thor, that is all.” He let out a sigh and closed his eyes. “It is difficult at times to take care of both of the girls and the shop. Ursa helps, but even with the two of us, sometimes it can seem like too much.” 

He hugged the jotun tighter. “Perhaps you should have a day simply to rest.”

“When winter is more fully settled, the shop will not be as busy. I will rest then.” Loki rested his head against his collarbone. “It won't be for too much longer.” 

He let out a worn sigh and kissed the top of the jotun's head. “If it is all right with you, I will look in on the girls before I leave.” 

“It is fine, if they are sleeping, try not to wake them.” He pulled away and turned his attention back to the soup pot.

“I won't.” Thor frowned slightly; perhaps it wasn't just exhaustion that was bothering the jotun. He sighed and headed up the stairs, wincing slightly as he heard several of them groan under his feet, hoping the noise wouldn't wake either of the girls. He reached the top floor, where Mirjam and Ursa's rooms were, the cool breeze blew down the hall from the open window behind him. He knocked once on his daughter's door before nudging it open. “Mirjam? Are you awake?”

The girl was sitting on the foot of her bed, a book in front of her, a small doll in a yellow dress sitting in her lap. She blinked at him, her expression odd. “Good afternoon, papa.” 

He smiled and came into the room. “Your mother said you might be sleeping, I didn't want to leave without seeing you or your sister.” 

“I didn't know you were visiting today.” She set her book aside, but kept her grip on the doll. It wasn't the typical sort of doll that little girls had; it was smaller, milliner's doll. 

“I needed to talk to your mother about something.” He sat down on the bench that was connected to the foot-board of the bed. “I cannot stay very long.”

“That's all right, papa.” She rubbed her nose. “I understand that you're very busy.”

“It's not easy, when there are so many people I wish to see and spend time with, when they are all in different places.” Thor patted her cheek. “But I know that you and your mother are happier here, rather than in some wing of the palace.”

“I didn't like staying hidden.” She lifted her chin, her blue eyes glinting. “It wasn't fair.”

“No, no it wasn't.” He sighed and kissed her forehead. “I'm going to do my best to come and see you all more often. I should set aside a time of the week to come, or something.” 

“Mama says that you tend to get Midgard and Asgard times mixed up. That's why you missed Vakur's name day.” She bit her lip.

“Yes.” Thor decided that it was best to let the girl believe that; it wasn't a total lie, but it was easier than explaining other things. “It does not help that Asgard has twenty-eight hour days and Midgard twenty-four. But at least the seasons are the same, at least, where I usually visit on Midgard.” Mirjam blinked at him and then he let out a sigh, leaning down to rest his arms and chin on the foot-board. “You're angry with me, aren't you?”

She slowly nodded. “You made mama cry.” 

He sat up, trying not to show any emotion. “I did not intend to do so, Mirjam.”

The girl's bottom lip started to quiver, and two tears slipped down her own cheeks. “Go. Away.” 

Thor felt as if he had just been slapped. “Mirjam...” 

“Go. Away.” She hissed between her teeth, pointing at the door. “I don't want to see you!” Then, suddenly, she jumped up, tucked the doll under her arm and raced down the stairs, and he heard a door open and then shut. 

“Mirjam!” He called and followed, stopping on the second landing just as Loki came to the top of the stairs. 

“What happened?” Loki looked from the closed door to him, his expression perplexed.

Thor took a deep breath. “She is angry with me.” He glanced at the the door. “I do not blame her.”

Loki shook his head. “I'll speak with her. Perhaps you should go.”

He nodded, resigned, wishing he knew what he had done that had upset Mirjam. He kissed Loki's forehead. “I will visit again next week. I will send a messenger beforehand, to make sure it is a good time.”

“All right.” He replied before knocking on the door. “Mirjam?”

Thor went down the stairs as he heard Loki knock again. Ursa was standing in the doorway between the back of the shop and the front. “Good day, Ursa.”

“Good day, your grace.” she replied, and he had a feeling her smile was forced. 

He headed out of the store, relieved when once again, no one paid him the slightest bit of attention. As he went outside and untethered his horse from the long rail that ran in front of Loki's and the neighboring shop, he looked up and caught sight of Mirjam standing in the window, glaring down at him. A moment later, she vanished. Thor sighed and turned his horse for home.

*  
Loki knocked softly on the door of his room, a good idea of what had upset his daughter already forming in his mind. “Mirjam, sweetie, it's mama, please open the door.” 

The lock unhitched and the girl, looking half-contrite, pulled it open. “Am I in trouble?” She didn't look at him, but at the floor.

He sighed and escorted her out of the room, glancing over at the crib. “Did you wake up your sister?”

She shook her head in response. 

“Then you aren't in as much trouble.” He set a hand between her shoulders and led her back upstairs to her room, setting her down on the bed. “Now, why don't you tell me why you're so angry?”

Mirjam bit her lip, her expression uncertain. “I thought papa had come to visit because it was my name-day. But he didn't even mention it.” Tears were starting in the corners of her eyes. “He forgot it was today. Forgot just like he forgot Vakur's.” 

“Oh, honey.” Loki smoothed down her hair, trying to smile and failing. “I rather thought that's why he was here too.” He made a face. “You would think that with all those servants in your father's house who do practically everything for them, there would be at least _one_ person who has the job of keeping him informed of important events.”

She sighed. “Maybe there is and _they_ forgot. But Auntie Sif and Vakur remembered. Auntie Sif sent me riding clothes and Vakur sent me the toy horse – and I'm supposed to join him for riding lessons starting next week.” She rested her head on her hands, looking miserable. “But I wanted papa to remember and I...” 

“You feel forgotten, don't you?” He hugged her. “I'm sorry that it has to be this way.”

She nodded, rubbing her nose. “I was also mad at papa for making you cry. I went down to hide in your room and to keep him away from Röskva.” 

Loki stared at her. “Why don't you want your papa seeing your little sister?”

“Cause I don't want him hurting her like he hurts you and me, mama. Röskva's small enough that she doesn't know better, but she's getting bigger.” Her bottom lip quivered. “I don't want her getting hurt.”

“Oh baby girl...” He pulled her into a hug and pressed his face into her hair. “Mirjam, I'm sorry.”

“Why are you sorry, mama? Papa's the one who keeps forgetting.” She mumbled into his chest.

“I'm sorry that you have to be in the middle of all of this.” He took a breath and pulled away, holding her face in his hands. “This is something that your father I need to sort out, the sooner the better.” He gave her another hug, swallowing hard. “You think you can get some rest before your party?”

The girl nodded, sniffling. “I'm sorry I upset you, mama.”

Loki sighed. “I'm not upset, I'm just tired, honey.” He didn't know how exactly how to explain all of this to the girl; she was too young to even be aware of how things were between him and Thor. While it was much better for him and the girls to no longer be tucked away in some corner of the palace, at the same time, it made the distance between the girls and their father's family seem huge. Mirjam laid down on her bed and he drew a blanket over her. “I'm going to check on your sister and then close the shop for the afternoon. We all need some rest.” 

She gave him a sleepy smile. “Maybe Papa will remember in time to come to the party.”

He ruffled her hair. “I hope so, Mirjam. But if he doesn't, promise you won't get upset?” He already knew that the prince would not be attending tonight's festivities.

She yawned. “I promise.” 

**  
Sif had sent her regrets to Loki about Mirjam's party, stating that she, Thor and Vakur could not come owing to an ambassador's visit that they could not avoid, and also stated that she would much rather come to the party, than attend some stuffy, formal affair. Right now, the formal dinner was long over and she was lying in bed, listening to her husband snore. She stuffed her pillow under her chin, willing herself to sleep, but finding rest illusive. Eir had explained to her, as had Thor, that part of his personality swings had come from dabbling in Midgardian medicine, but she knew it was far more than that. Something else had happened on Midgard and it wasn't just some strange drug called hydrocodone. 

When she entered into this marriage, she had accepted certain things; she was expected to give Thor a son, which she had. She knew that her husband had a mistress and she didn't have a problem with Loki, the jotun understood her better than any of her handmaidens, hell, probably better than her own mother did. She didn't care if Thor sought his comfort in that man's bed, but she knew that Thor had not been with the jotun since before Röskva had been born. She also knew full well it wasn't lack of time; her husband had once had the talent for making time for things he wanted to do, from hunting to a night out on the town. Now it was different; it seemed as if he was always rushing through things here on Asgard so he could skip off down to Midgard.

And some woman who smelled of citrus.

It was an insult Sif could not bear. Thor seeking comfort with a jotun paramour was something she could handle; Loki harbored no grand dreams of becoming something more than he was to Thor. Sif didn't know what to expect from some Midgard female.

The fact that her husband had sought out comfort in the woman's bed when he had a wife and a mistress – and three beautiful children, what was wrong with Thor's friends on Midgard? Surely one of them should have pointed out the wrongness in his behavior. Not that Stark fellow. He had morals that made Fandral look like a monk. Son of Rogers, however, he seemed like a moral paragon. 

Sif rolled over onto her side, staring at Thor's back. 

She had never really lost to Loki, there had been times when she was thankful of him being there. He was the closest thing she had to a best friend, and right now, if it wasn't so late, she might be in his house right now, telling him everything. Was she really so undesirable that Thor sought out some meek and fragile human? And what of Loki? She'd seen Thor's face on nights when he'd come back from the jotun's chambers when he still lived in the palace; that look of bliss and comfort that Sif wished she could achieve at times.

Perhaps it wasn't the awkwardness of being Thor's friend for so long that made sex strange between the two of them; maybe it was the fact that she needed to let go and stop over-thinking so much. She frowned as an idea came to her. It was a lot to ask, but it might be – no, she couldn't ask Loki to do that, could she? Then again, Loki might be more than happy to help her. 

If the jotun could teach her to enjoy sex – or help her figure out what her issue was, then she could very well convince Thor that the only bed he should sleep in was theirs. That little mortal, whoever she was, couldn't be _that_ special, could she? 

Turning back over, Sif pulled the blankets up over her shoulder, grinning. She would talk to Loki as soon as she could.

**  
Ísleikur set down his sketchbook and rose to his feet. It had been a week since Mirjam's birthday, and he had been unable to see Loki any more than in passing, when he visited the shop, the place had been busy, limiting their conversations to hello and good-bye. He pulled his cloak on around his shoulders and headed downstairs and outside, deciding that it might be late enough that the crowds might be gone and he would be able to talk to the jotun for more than a few minutes. 

Winter was definitely in the air as he went up the street and he pulled his collar closer together, wondering how cold it became on Asgard, as the part of Alfheim he lived on had a winter that always arrived earlier than it should and remained longer than it should half time. The bells on the door jingled their familiar tones as he pushed it open and he was also greeted by the smell of soap. “Hello?” He called out and a moment later, the worn face of the jotun appeared in the doorway.

“Good evening, Ísleikur” He smiled. “I'm afraid we're out of fries.” 

“It's fine.” He came over to the counter. “I was actually hoping to talk to you, but ah...”

“I was just washing dishes, I can do that and talk.” Loki gave him a tired look. “Could you please go throw the bolt on the door?”

“Certainly.” He went to comply and then came back to the counter, ducking behind the curtain, frowning at the tall stack of bowls and plates on both sides of the sinks. “Where's Ursa?”

“Putting the girls to bed.” He answered. “We were exceptionally busy today, that's all.”

Ísleikur took up an apron that was lying on a chair and tied it around his waist, picked up a clean towel and began drying bowls. “I think there must be quite a few name days around this time of the year.”

“Oh, stop, you don't need to do that...” He moved to take the bowl he was holding from him and in response, he set a hand on his arm.

“I'm here and I can dry dishes. Norns knows, you look about ready to fall asleep in the sink.” He chuckled. “It'll go faster this way.”

The jotun let out a resigned sigh. “I just...” He let out a worn chuckle and went back to washing a plate. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” He moved onto another bowl. “How are the girls?”

“They're well. I'm just glad that Röskva is an easier baby than her sister was. Mirjam was far more fussy at two months.” He coughed. “Although I think she didn't get as much fresh air as her sister does.”

Ísleikur wasn't certain how to respond to that as he set the bowl down and took up another. “It must be difficult, having to care for an infant, a young girl and this place.” He swallowed. 

“Ursa is wonderful help, but still, there is just two of us.” He sighed. “I keep meaning to hire some help, but I doubt there are many here on Asgard that would wish to answer to a jotun and dark elf.”

“I'm certain there are some who would have no trouble waiting tables. If you had two, three, or even just one person to do that, it would take a great deal of the burden off of you.” He sighed. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so forward...”

“No, it's fine.” Loki set a plate into the drying rack. “And you have a point. Know any girls who want to stop making gowns?”

He chuckled. “Perhaps they should come here first to learn how to handle difficult customers. I'm certain that a hungry solider wanting ice cream cannot be half as bad as a demanding noble who insists on miniscule stitches in the embroidery of her gown so that it appears to be a part of the fabric, and not an embellishment.”

“I've seen such gowns. Just thinking of how the details were achieved makes my eyes hurt.” He managed a grin. “I hear on Midgard and other places they have machines that are capable of doing such things. Though how good they look, I do not know.” 

“I suspect they might look rather... fake.” He started to stack the plates and bowls he had already dried. “It's not so bad, it's when they ask for gowns made with no magical help that really makes me want to scream sometimes.”

“I didn't think that there were such things worn by nobles. I've attended such functions and it seems to be nothing more than a contest to out-do one another. It seems that it should be the hands that made the gown who have right to brag, not the wearer.” A small, evil little smile played at the corner of his mouth. “When people find faults in some things, I often wonder what they would do with the same materials.”

“Don't tell me people insult your food, Loki. Everything I've had is delicious.” He frowned. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing, I'm just... tired.” He set the rag down and leaned against the sink. “It's almost like being a slave again, or worse. At least I had plenty of sleep at times when I didn't have my freedom.” 

Ísleikur set the towel down and drew Loki into his arms. “Then you go upstairs and sleep, you need it. I can finish these dishes for you, I do not mind.”

“No, no... I can't ask you to do that...” He made a feeble attempt at pulling away and in response, the man picked the jotun up like he was a child and carried him upstairs.

“Bother the dishes and bother asking me to work. It will do your girls no good if their mother can barely stand, they need for you to be healthy and well rested.” He reached the first landing just as Ursa came down from the other. “It is time he got some sleep.” He felt rather foolish, standing there.

“I quite agree.” The dark elf replied and showed him into a room. “Just set him down here on the bed, I'll take Röskva into my room tonight.” She went over to the crib and picked up a sleeping infant who let out a small whine of protest that was identical to the one her mother made as he set her down on the bed. “Hush now.” She said, exiting the room, but leaving the door open.

“I have things to do...” Loki started to say and sit up and Ísleikur responded by gently nudging his shoulder down.

“Rest, you're in need of it, more than you're willing to admit.” He gave the jotun a smile as he removed his shoes. “Your job right now is to sleep.”

“But I...” He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side, and a moment later, let out a soft snore.

“There you are.” He replied, rising from where he was sitting on the foot of the bed and taking a blanket, covering Loki with it. He ducked quietly out of the room and shut the door, and then returned to the kitchen. He was nearly finished with drying the already washed dishes when Ursa joined him. 

“Thank you.” She said, without preamble. “I've been trying to convince him to sleep for the past hour. He's so tired, he forgot to lock the door and that's how you wandered in here.”

“I didn't realize that you'd been that busy, I thought I was just coming at the rush parts of the day.” He felt his face flush. 

“It's the season, it will be over once Yule is.” She sighed, turning her attention to the dishes. “I'm half-tempted to not open tomorrow and just let him get caught up with everything.”

“Then why don't you?” He shrugged. “I don't mean to be forward, but...”

“We can't do that just yet, it's the season and...”

“Well, then how about tomorrow I come over and watch the girls for you two? I may not know much about ice cream and Peruvian fries, but I can look after a six year old and a two month old.” He wondered what had caused him to say that? Watch two children? Just like that?

“I'm certain you have work of your own.” Ursa replied in a tone that told him that she didn't believe what she was hearing.

“I don't think that Asgard will draw to a halt because I take a day off designing gowns for next spring, which no woman is going to want to order until after the new year.” He shook his head. “I can tolerate the giggles of little girls who laugh over things that are actually funny, rather than listening to grown girls giggle over something stupid some warrior said that really, they should have slapped him for.” 

Ursa gave him an incredulous look. “Are you real, Ísleikur Petarson, because sometimes I have trouble believing it.” 

“I am not that wonderful, Ursa, I assure you that.” He ducked his head.

“Oh you are, you just aren't aware of it.” She shook her head and turned her attention back to the dishes.

*

Loki sat bolt upright as the bells tolled three. He had to think for a moment, trying to remember how he had come upstairs. He didn't remember finishing his work, and he was almost certain he hadn't. He frowned, as he was still dressed, save for his socks and boots. “Odd.” He rose from the bed and went over to the crib, a jolt of panic went through him as he found it empty. He jerked his door open and nudged Ursa's open, and was greeted by the sound of his friend's light snores and the sight of his baby girl sleeping in the cradle next to the bed. 

“Thank the Norns.” He shut the door, almost feeling silly. He was about to head back to his own room and more rest, when he heard another snoring occupant of the house; an unfamiliar one. “What?” He went quietly down to the stairs and into the kitchen. He was taken aback by the sight that greeted him.

Ísleikur was asleep in the rocking chair that stood next to the stove, where the coals were glowing a gentle shade of gray, just enough to warm the area. What was the man doing here? Then he remembered; he'd come in to talk and they'd been doing dishes. The man had carried him upstairs and put him to bed before they finished. He wasn't certain if he should wake him so he could go home, or let his slumber continue.

It wasn't as if Loki was worried about gossip; there wasn't a person on this street who wasn't aware of who the father of his two children were. He also knew there were far more interesting topics at the moment and things that happened here were generally ignored.

He stepped over to the rocker, reaching out a hand to brush against the man's cheek, smiling. “Thank you.” 

“Ayls?” Ísleikur muttered, his voice sounded odd; half awake, half asleep, and confused. 

Uncertain, he leaned closer, setting a hand on the man's shoulder. “Ísleikur, wake up, you're dreaming.” 

“Ayls...” He said again and a hand came up, fingers sliding into his hair and then the man was kissing him. Seriously kissing him, the sort of kiss that Loki could only dream about, one that contained love and care, gentle and yet passionate. When it ended, all he could think was that he wanted another. The man's hand fell back and he let out a sob. “Come back to me, Ayls... please...”

Loki stepped back, his heart hammering, he didn't know if he should risk waking the man up or not. Instead, like a coward, he slunk back upstairs and collapsed into his bed, smothering his own tears. It wasn't that Ísleikur had kissed him, thinking him to be his late wife, it was the fact that he still wanted another one of those kisses, to have that man whisper _his_ name in his sleep, not some light elf who had died nearly eight years ago. 

And he wept for hating that he felt that way.


End file.
